


Rough and Ready

by blue_pointer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel 1872, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel 1872, Asian Stephen Strange, Aunt Peggy Carter, Bad Accents, Blacksmith Tony, Bully Rumlow, California Gold Rush, Duelling, First Kiss, Gen, Gunsmith Bucky, Mercenary Nat, Rough and Ready, Schoolmarm Pepper, Sheriff Steve, Shopkeeper Scott, Tony Stark and Some Sneaky-Peekie Spying, Tony and tech porn, Tony is a workaholic, Waltzing, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Western, a smidge of Tony/Nat, dance lessons, discord key exchange, failure to impress, he has a special outfit for this, high noon, how to make a spectacle of yourself, shameless flirt Tony, twang city, when attempted murder goes wrong, winteriron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: Tony is the new blacksmith in town. Too bad the town already has a blacksmith.Sparks fly, but not the kind Tony wants. But Buchanan J. Barnes is a beautiful challenge. He has to try.





	1. Draw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts).



> This is my first work in the current Winteriron Discord server key exchange. The prompt I received was Western a/u - High Noon. Which was a fantastic prompt.
> 
> The first chapter was also partly inspired by [this](http://massivespacewren.tumblr.com/post/164973989213/bill-longbow-asked-for-cowboys-my-mind-kind-of) lovely piece created by [MassiveSpaceWren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a city slicker comes to town and threatens to take away all of Bucky's business, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

“You sure about that, sugarlump?” The way the man smirked. Something about it just weren’t right. “Don’t think you’ve had the pleasure to know how big I am...yet.” It was like a leer, but the kind you save for the ladies at the cathouse when you’re good and drunk. Some in the saloon laughed. Most everybody was just watchin’ to see what he’d do, knowing that old Barnes temper.

“I said _duel_ ,” Buchanan pushed on. “High noon. Tomorrow.” Then he turned to make his grand exit through the saloon doors. “‘Less’n yer **yella**.”

“I always had more of a proclivity for gold, myself.” Bastard never could let a man have the last word. Bucky stormed out, spurs a-janglin’.

“Well hey there, pardner.”

 _Dammit Steve._ Somehow the sheriff always knew the worst possible time to put in an appearance.

“Where y’all goin’ in such a hurry?”

“Ain’t in no hurry.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Of course he continued to follow along, just behind Bucky’s elbow.

“Just headin’ back to the forge,” he grunted. “Man’s allowed to finish an honest day’s work in this town, ain’t he?”

“‘Course he is, Buck.” He tugged on his gun belt, which was always drooping low over his hips. Sheriff Rogers was a big man, but his father had been big in a different way. Still, he refused to let Bucky cut him new holes in that damned belt. “But I reckon I don’t gotta tell you dueling’s illegal in this here town.”

“Duelin’ ain’t against the law in the state o’ Californ-I-A.”

“Well, no, it ain’t. But it is here in the town of Rough and Ready.”

“Says who?” Bucky was still steadily making his way down the end of the street to his workshop.

“Says me, Buck.” Steve grabbed his good elbow and tugged him back some. He whirled on his old friend, ready for a fight after the humiliation he’d been dealt just that morning by the new blacksmith.

“You gonna arrest me then, Sheriff?” It was a challenge. In his eyes, and his body language.

Steve backed down immediately with a sad look. “‘Course not.”

“Then I’m free to go.” He just nodded, and Bucky continued his chink chink chink down the street.

 

*

 

It was nigh on five till, and Stark had yet to show his yeller belly out in the street. Everyone else in town had sure come out to see the fireworks, though. Even Miss Nat, who was on a rare weekend off, spending it in town before her next escort job for Wells Fargo. No stage coach got robbed if Miss Nat was on board. Bucky couldn’t let himself be embarrassed again with her watching.

Sheriff Steve had yet to show. Which was good. Maybe he’d taken Bucky’s warning. Done him the personal favor of looking the other way. Or maybe he was waiting to step out into the street at the last minute and arrest him. With Steve, could be either one.

Bucky tried not to sweat too obviously. Readjusted the holster on his right hip. He checked the sun one more time, pulled the brim of his hat down a bit lower over his brow.

Gol-durn city boy didn’t have a lick of honor. Couldn’t even show up when he’d been called out publicly. He didn’t belong in a town like Rough and Ready. People out here on the frontier had integrity. You had to; sometimes it was all you had.

Just when he was about to give up, call it in his favor, Stark stepped out from behind the outhouse down the street. _What in tarnation?_ Half the time he acted like a damn rodeo clown. Bucky didn’t find it funny, but ladies in town seemed to--or pretended they did. Stark was rich, and that was worth a lot in these parts.

“Come out here and face me like a man!” Bucky spat, reaching for the handle of his gun, just as reassurance.

“Oh? And how does one do that? Like this?” He pranced into the middle of the street, like a trick pony, or one o’ them Irish dancers. Some of the folks gathered laughed, but not Bucky.

“You think yer pretty goddamn funny, don’tcha?” Bucky growled.

“Who, me?” Stark made a show of looking around to make sure Bucky was talking to him. “Well, not really. I mean, sometimes. That is--I do my best. I’m no George Holland--”

“Just shut yer yap and draw!” Bucky had had enough of the man’s constant run-on sentences. It was time for action.

“Well.” Stark hesitated, as if he weren’t sure exactly what Bucky meant by that. “I suppose I _could,_ but--”

“Draw. Or leave this town and never come back!”

A murmur passed through the crowd on either side of the street. Could the city slicker do it? Buchanan J. Barnes had been a real quick draw back before he’d lost his arm in the war. Even now, he could probably still outshoot the New York City boy.

“Look, if you really want to do this…” He sighed. “Well, the way we do back east is to start with our backs to each other, holding pistols. Then we each take 10 paces, and shoot. Sound good?”

None of that sounded good to Bucky, but Miss Pepper, the town’s schoolmistress and smartest person he knew, shouted from the side, “He’s right, Buck. It is how they do.”

Bucky sighed. Tipped his hat up a mite. He didn’t like it, but he reckoned he could take down this bag of hot air any which way. “Fine.”

He began a slow, menacing walk toward the center of the road. Stark did the same. Closer and closer they came, until Bucky could see the diamond earring in his left ear, the whites of his eyes, and finally them dark, dark eyelashes around ‘em. It just weren’t natural for a man.

Now they were nose to nose, Bucky could smell him. Oiled leather and hot steel and...women’s cologne? He set his jaw more firmly. It was time to end this. “Ready?”

Stark was short of breath, like he’d run down the street. If that was the shape he was in, he had no chance in hell. “Yeah...I think--” And then he grabbed Bucky with both hands on his face, jerking him forward.

Stark planted one on him six ways from Sunday.

At first, Bucky was so shocked, he didn’t know what to do. But then, he heard the laughter. All up and down the street, folks were laughin’ and hollerin’ until Bucky just couldn’t take it no more.

Steve grabbed his elbow right before he could throw the first punch and break Stark’s nose. “Hold it right there, fella.”

“Let me go, Sheriff! Let me go, so I can kill this cheatin’ sonofabitch.”

“See, Buck, that’s just why I can’t let you go.”

“Come on, Steve!” Bucky turned on his old friend. “You seen what he just did. I can’t let it stand; no way, no how!”

“Aw, sweetums. I was just bein’ friendly.” The bastard had the nerve to bat his eyelashes at him.

“Alright, you. I thought I told you not to stir up trouble.”

“Now Sheriff Steve, don’t be jealous! There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Bucky needed to punch him. Right now. He lunged in Steve’s hold. “Whoa, there, pardner! Don’t make me handcuff you.”

“Oo, promise?” Now Stark was battin’ his eyelashes at Steve.

“Come on, Tony.” That was Steve’s exasperated voice. “Get along back home. You know what I meant.”

“Spoilsport.” But Stark finally moved off, his crowd of admirers slowly trailing him back to the forge.

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky swore. “Why didn’t you let me do it? Why?”

“‘Cause killin’ folks ain’t good for ya, Buck. And it ain’t who you are. You may not remember it, but I do.” He knocked Bucky’s hat back and ruffled his hair.

“Goddammit!”

“Howdy.” Steve stepped aside as Miss Nat walked up.

Bucky went to tip his hat and then remembered it was no longer on his head. “Ma’am.”

“You was really gonna shoot that feller, Buck?”

He shrugged. “Yup.”

“Walk with me.” She started off down the street real slow with that tilt to her hips when she walked that made Bucky melt like fresh-churned butter. He shot Steve a warning look and followed.

“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” Honest, he was just so relieved she still wanted to associate with him after what Stark had just done.

Miss Nat reached out, real casual-like, and took Bucky’s elbow. He just about thought he’d died and gone to heaven. “You know, there are other ways to get revenge on a man ‘sides killin ‘im.” She paused, glancing his way. “You interested?”

“Pardon my language, Miss Nat, but hell yes, I am!”

Her lips curved in a smile, and Bucky was all in.


	2. How to Lose Friends and Annoy People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showing off, a little bit of spying, trying to commission a gun from a fellow artist, public dance lessons. Tony just wanted to make a friend. A _sexy_ friend. Too bad he always fails at relationships when it really counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the perseverence of the winteriron discord channel, I have produced a second chapter for [Bill_Longbow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow)

Tony had rolled into the small mining town not a month earlier with nothing more than a prototype for a horseless carriage and a song in his heart. The townsfolk had been suitably impressed--as they were meant to be. All that is, except for the truculent blacksmith. He was going to be a hard-sell, Tony could tell. And he didn’t mind. He enjoyed a challenge. He also enjoyed tall, dark cowboys whose baby faces were poorly hidden behind bushy five o’clock shadow. He had cold blue eyes that could shoot to kill at a thousand paces, and Tony could think of little else from that first angry glare. 

The town sheriff was easy on the eyes, too, with a smile sweet as pie and a behind you could bounce a quarter off of. But Tony couldn’t go there. Aunt Margaret’s instructions had been explicit where the sheriff was concerned. Tony tried to keep it friendly, but flirting was second nature. Fortunately, Rogers never seemed to take it personally--he was a bit thick. Tony just liked the way the sheriff smiled when he teased him. It was harmless. Surely his aunt couldn’t fault him for a little harmless flirting.

...okay, maybe she could.

Tony set about making other friends in town. It wasn’t hard; he was the most interesting thing the town had seen since the goldmines had run dry. Honestly, Tony thought a dog and pony show would have wowed these folks. His inventions, his fast city talk, his New York fashions, and his charming ways were too much for them. They ate it up.

Well, except Barnes.

When Tony had had enough of basking in everyone else’s admiration, he went after the one-armed blacksmith. Why? Because you always wanted what you couldn’t have. And, as far as Tony could see, the man practically lived like a monk. He needed a little excitement in his life. Otherwise what was the point?

To get his attention, Tony set up his workshop right across the street from the blacksmith’s forge. With his gadgets and know-how, he was up and running in a day. Of course people came to him for what they needed; everyone wanted the chance to look around his workshop at all of Tony’s handy gadgets and gizmos. And he knew how to put on a show. The sign above the front door read Iron Man Smithy. It was all about advertising. That, and giving people what they wanted. Why, with his setup, Tony could get a commission done without an assistant in less time than Barnes could. For flair, he finished every piece with a coat of bronze, to make it shine.

When Barnes declared angrily that a bronze coating was pointless and sometimes counter to the function of the thing, Tony accused him of having no eye for aesthetics. Unfortunately, that didn’t ingratiate him to the blacksmith any.

One day, Tony turned around and realized he’d accidentally managed to steal all of Barnes’ business. He’d just meant to get his attention, but between the curiosity of the townsfolk and Tony’s own workaholic tendencies… Well, naturally the blacksmith wasn’t happy.

By the time Tony realized and started turning jobs away, it was too late. Most everyone said they could wait for a job done the new way, and Barnes had taken up residence in the back of the town saloon. Tony couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just sleeping, but there was rarely a day he couldn’t be found there.

Tony felt terrible. He closed his shop. Began to frequent the bar himself, making all manner of friends his father would have disapproved of. He became almost as popular with the compulsive gamblers as he was with the ladies. After two weeks, he began to see Barnes less and less. A blacksmith wasn’t the sort of thing a town could go long without. Horses threw shoes, equipment broke, coopers needed their rings and carters needed their fittings.

But Tony watched, and it seemed Barnes never did get the amount of business he’d had. He locked himself in his forge, the fire going day and night. But what was he doing in there? Tony decided to do some investigating.

In the dark of night, he put on his sneaking clothes (black leather trousers with a matching black vest over a black silk shirt, and a black longshoreman’s knit cap to top it all off) and climbed up to the roof of the forge. He peered in through one of the vent-holes to see Barnes seated at a long workbench, the fingers of his good hand working on minutia. Were those…? They were. Forged triggers for revolvers, and hand-cast barrels, which were things Tony hadn’t seen since his childhood. He wanted to get closer, touch them, examine the handiwork more closely.

What was more amazing was Barnes’ ability to work with only one hand. He used the metal prosthesis he wore as a tool, leaning parts against the unmoving fingers as his flesh fingers worked, or just using the metal fingers to hold a thing while he worked with it. It was pretty clever, actually. Tony had wanted to get a closer look at the metal arm, but Sheriff Rogers had warned him not to. Buck was very sensitive about it, he’d said. And Tony supposed that made sense. If he’d lost an arm, he’d be pretty upset about people’s curiosity over it, too. Hell, he hated when people got curious about his family’s money, and that was hadrly anything to be ashamed of by comparison.

One of the tiles was loose, and skittered down the angle of the roof when Tony’s boot hit it just the wrong way. Barnes looked up, and grabbed something on his way outside the workshop. Tony froze where he was. “I done told you last time, possum!” he shouted, pumping a shotgun. “Next time I caught you clamberin’ around on my roof, I’s gonna shootcha!”

Tony very carefully eased down the other side of the roof and scurried back to his shop. He wasn’t keen on ending in a dispute between a cranky cowboy and a marsupial. Sweet Jesus, these pioneer folk were extreme. Who exterminates pests with a shotgun?

The next day, Tony waited for the blacksmith to leave his forge and followed him into town. Waited till he was somewhere quite public like the general store, and then mentioned loudly that he was thinking of investing in a new gun. When Mr. Lang rushed to show him the newest models, Tony stopped him. “No, not those. I want something...special. Something hand-made. Maybe something done custom. Is there anyone in town who makes guns?”

“A gunsmith? In this here town?” someone asked, incredulous. The implication being that they would actually be a spot on the map again if they had their own gunsmith.

“Too bad,” Tony continued in his stage voice. “I’d pay a pretty penny for a custom shooter.”

Barnes was quiet, but the sheriff was looking at him meaningly. He seemed determined to avoid Rogers’ gaze. “Buck here tried his hand at that once.” The blacksmith winced, and Tony couldn’t help but wince, too. You don’t say a one-armed man had ‘tried his hand’ at something. Any fool knew that. But Rogers seemed to think Barnes’ reaction was shyness. He slapped a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, encouragingly. “Whaddaya say, Buck? You could take Tony’s order and just give it a try. Bet you’d do better than you think.”

“No thanks,” Barnes replied, and it was the most Tony had heard him say in weeks. He shoved his way out of the crowded store and plodded back down the street in his usual stoic way.

Tony chased him outside. “You sure about that, Barnes?” he called out. “If it’s money you’re worried about, I have plenty of it.”

But he just continued to walk down the street as if he hadn’t heard Tony.

So it was personal. Tony jogged after him, cutting into the blacksmith’s path. “Hey. You know...I feel like we got off on the wrong foot here. Did we ever even get properly introduced?” Tony took off his hat and extended a hand. “I’m new to these parts. The name’s Tony.” When Barnes just stared at his hand as if it were a cast iron frying pan, Tony pushed on. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to run into a fellow artisan way out here. I’ve seen your work, and I have to say--”

“Save it,” Barnes grunted, and plodded around Tony to continue on his homeward path.

“Aww, come on, neighbor!” Tony chased after him. “I’m just trying to be friendly. Aren’t you-all famous for your hospitality out in these parts?”

Barnes stopped. Fixed Tony with his hard blue eyes. “That ain’t me.” This time, when he continued on, Tony let him go. Barnes seemed to be a lost cause.

Good thing he specialized in lost causes.

Tony continued to watch Barnes, waiting for his opportunity. Thursday nights, he always had dinner with the sheriff. At first, Tony suspected they might be clementines, but that never panned out. He wouldn’t have put it past the sheriff, but Barnes seemed closed-lipped and unexpressive even with his old war buddy.

Sunday nights, he’d go sit in the church alone. Which was odd; services ended by two. Sometimes he’d talk quietly with the preacher, but Tony never could get close enough to hear what was being said.

Fridays Wells Fargo would roll into town to take the bank’s deposits. And there was a certain ginger sharpshooter who usually escorted the stagecoach. She made Barnes duck his head and stutter. And there it was; Tony had him.

The next time she rode into town alone, Tony made sure to head to the saloon first thing. Her name was Natalie, and the copper curls she hid under a wide-brimmed, open creased hat were nothing compared to the lithe body she concealed beneath canvas and buckskin riding gear. Where Tony came from, she would have been a scandal. Out here, it was just Tuesday. Some things about the frontier were much better than the city.

Tony bought her a drink, and though she didn’t turn him down, she made it clear she was waiting for someone, that he should expect no  _ quid pro quo _ if he still chose to buy her one. Tony had no issue with that; he knew who she was waiting for.

Barnes was awfully cute when he strutted his way in, trying to play casual. He even pretended not to be there for his lady-friend, carefully not looking her way as he sidled up to the bar.

“Evenin’, pardner,” she greeted him.

He tipped his hat. “Miss Nat.”

“I heard there was gonna be some dancin’ tonight.”

Suddenly Barnes’ nerves showed. Tony was melting. How sweet the baby face became when the layers of his tough-guy facade began to fall away. “Uh...there is?”

She nodded to the Chinaman taking his seat at the piano. “Right enough.”

Barnes blinked over in surprise. “Strange got the day off’n the railroad?” 

“Union Pacific got held up out of Salt Lake City.” She smirked. “Guess they shoulda invested in better security.”

A slow grin spread over Barnes’ rough features. It changed his entire face. “Guessin’ they shoulda.” Tony was curious about this shared joke between them--did the redhead double as a train robber?--but he was mesmerised by the transformation of Barnes’ face. As the piano began to play, he looked down hurriedly.

“Sure would be nice if’n a feller asked me to dance right about now.” Subtle, she was not. But Tony could see that’s what it took with the blacksmith.

He hopped off his barstool. “Madam.” Tony swept off his hat with a courtly bow. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

“Oh.” She blinked at him in surprise, then glanced sidewards at Barnes, who was glaring at the floor, fist clenched.

“Well, I reckon it won’t do no harm.” Maybe she was hoping to goad the blacksmith into action, maybe she was secretly as susceptible to Tony’s charms as city women were. Either way, she slid callused fingers into Tony’s hand, and he drew her close, beginning to whirl across the makeshift dancefloor. “You city folk sure do dance fancy,” she commented, staring at Barnes over Tony’s shoulder.

He was not offended. “Oh? Well, I’d love to learn your frontier dances, if you ever want to show me.” Her body felt good pressed against his. Under all that road dust, she was feminine as any woman he’d ever taken into his arms.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a smirk. She turned and walked back to the bar, holding out her hand to Barnes. “Wanna show this city slicker how it’s done, Buck?”

Tony had to respect her directness. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. For his part, Barnes looked like he’d abandoned all hope. It took time for him to come back from that dark place of perceived rejection--and Tony felt guilty. Terribly guilty for having grabbed his girl when what he’d really wanted was to get Barnes’ attention.

Tony watched the blacksmith slowly come back to life, like a wilted flower. He gave her a polite nod and stood, removing his hat and setting it on the bar before he took her hand. 

It was an awkward thing, dancing with a one-armed man. But Tony could tell they’d done this before, Natalie compensating for Barnes’ inability to put both hands where they were supposed to go. Their dance was slow and awkward, but full of unspoken promises.

Tony almost gave up right there. But, hell. If he couldn’t have Barnes, at least he could help the poor bastard get what he wanted, right?

“You two are adorable,” he said, stepping up beside them. “But allow me to give you a few pointers.” Without waiting for a response, Tony repositioned Barnes’ hand, pulling it down to the small of Natalie’s back. When he turned to put her hand on the blacksmiths’ hip, he saw Barnes’ eyes widen, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, nervous. “Now.” Tony called out to Strange on keys. “A waltz, if you will, Maestro.”

The railroad worker nodded, doing a little arpeggio run before he began Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake waltz. Tony took a moment to blink at the Chinaman’s knowledge of modern music before continuing. “Alright, kids, this one’s easy even for clumsy feet. Watch me. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.”

Barnes’ brow furrowed as he tried to follow the movements of Tony’s feet, watching him start to slowly dance in a circle. Natalie was ready to go, already following Tony’s feet as if she were his dance partner, and dragging a struggling Barnes along.

“Wait--no--stop.” Barnes pulled away, ducking his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Miss Nat. I ain’t...I ain’t no dancer.”

“Well that ain’t why I asked you to dance with me,” Nat soothed with a sweet smile.

“Nonsense, Buttercup,” Tony insisted, cutting in. “If I can do it, you can do it. Come on, I’ll lead.” He grabbed Barnes and drew him into the waltz, counting out the steps. Barnes was so stunned, at first he actually went along.

“What in tarnation are you doin’?!” he demanded, caught up in Tony’s step and twirl, unable to get out immediately.

“What do you think, handsome?” Tony offered him a winning smile. “Teaching you to dance, so’s you can win the heart of your lady-love.”

A loud guffaw from the back of the saloon shattered their almost-perfect moment like glass. Then Barnes was staggering away, glaring angrily at Tony, looking utterly humiliated. As Tony reached for him, forlorn, the big man at the end of the bar continued to laugh as rudely as possible, raising his glass to the sullen blacksmith. “That sure is nice dancin’, one-arm. You gonna join the girls on stage next chorus night?”

“Shut your yap, Brock!” Was it Tony’s imagination, or had more of Nat’s curls escaped her hat in her fury? “Ain’t nobody asked you for your goddamn opinion!”

“Come on, Miss Nat, why you gonna mess with a crippled queer like him? Why not try a real man on for size?” He leered. Right up until she put a .45 straight through the middle of his ten gallon hat. That seemed to dampen his spirits.

But it was too late. Barnes had already stormed out. Tony chased after him. “Hey, sugarlump, what’s the hurry? The night is young! There’s still dancing to be had.”

He whirled on Tony, teeth bared. “This is your fault, Stark. I blame you!” He pointed an angry finger. “You ain’t heard the last of me.” And then he was off, taking his personal stormcloud with him back down the street.

Tony sighed. Why was it he made friends he didn’t want with ease, but the ones he really wanted to impress, he failed miserably with?

“Ask me, you wanna dance with a feller, you oughtta be direct about it. Be a man.”

Tony glanced at Natalie in surprise. “Are you honestly telling me to be a man and ask another man to dance?”

She shrugged. “Don’t take Rumlow as no example of how folks are out in these parts. You wanna ask a man to dance, you ask. Don’t try to wrangle him into it.” She shook her head, watching Barnes go. “Trust me. Ain’t nothin’ good gonna come outta this.”

Tony bit his lip. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”


End file.
